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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24353080">A Hellcat For A Parabatai</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpleglasseswrites/pseuds/purpleglasseswrites'>purpleglasseswrites</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Last Hours Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, F/M, Female Matthew Fairchild</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:00:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,181</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24353080</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpleglasseswrites/pseuds/purpleglasseswrites</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of scenes and moments, in the life of Matilda Fairchild. The Consul's bisexual and alcoholic daughter. A woman who is not shy to be open about her sexuality. In the early 1900s, a woman like that would have been outcasted from society without a second thought. </p><p>But Matilda was the Consul's daughter, and the Shadow World had to accept her for who she was. That didn't stop them from being cruel behind her back.</p><p>They questioned why James Herondale would choose a girl to be his parabatai. But he wouldn't have it any other way.</p><p>Chapter 3: In Which James Gifts Matilda a Puppy</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cordelia Carstairs/James Herondale, Cordelia Carstairs/Matthew Fairchild, Grace Blackthorn/James Herondale, Matthew Fairchild &amp; Anna Lightwood, Matthew Fairchild &amp; James Herondale, Matthew Fairchild/Anna Lightwood, Matthew Fairchild/James Herondale</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. In Which Matilda Feels Guilty About Calling James a Child of Demons</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Mallt,” James said, stepping into the parlour. His parabatai was crouched on the floor, her plum coloured skirt brushing the wooden surface. Her curls had escaped their pins and were now falling freely over her shoulders, hiding her face.</p><p>She didn’t seem to hear him. James walked towards her, noticing the dustpan in her small hand. And the blood running down her palm.</p><p>He sprinted forward, kneeling at her side. She raised her head, green eyes glassy. “Don’t,” she said. “There are shards everywhere, you will end up bleeding to death—Oh,” she turned her palm over, staring at the blood dripping onto the floor. “I’m bleeding.”</p><p>James glanced down. There were indeed small pieces of glass scattered all around the room. How he had managed to avoid stepping on any of them was beyond him. The glass that had broken, he realized.</p><p>“Why didn’t you ask Bridget to clean it up?” He asked, taking her hand in his, her signet ring red on her finger.</p><p>“It’s my mess to fix,” she said weakly, trying to yank her hand from his grip. James held on tightly.</p><p>“Let me give you an iratze,” he took his stele out, turning her palm upwards. Matilda whined but didn’t try fighting him again. He finished the rune, her skin starting to stitch itself together. She let out a sigh, eyes fluttering close. At least there had been no splinters etched in her skin.</p><p>“I’m going to get Bridget,” James said, rising to his feet.</p><p>“No!” Matilda exclaimed, starting to get up. “I can finish up here—”</p><p>She stumbled, her heels stepping on some of the shards. She swayed, her knees fighting to keep her upright. James lunged for her, circling her waist, resting her body against his chest.</p><p>Matilda squealed. “Did that convince you Bridget is needed?” James asked, fingers clenched in the material of her shirt. Her waistcoat was gone, thrown carelessly on one of the armchairs.</p><p>“Let me go,” she screeched, fists punching his chest. It hurt.</p><p>“No,” James said, scooping her up in his arms. She was so small and light, James felt like he was barely holding anything at all.</p><p>Matilda yelled, squirming and twisting while James carried her to one of the sofas. He laid her down just in time. She would have fallen out of his grip otherwise and he wouldn’t have been able to catch her this time.</p><p>She glared at him, green eyes furious. “What the bloody hell gave you the idea you can carry me around like some damsel in distress? I’m not Grace Blackthorn, James. I don’t need you to rescue me!”</p><p>James furrowed his brows. “Don’t you?”</p><p>That seemed to anger her even more, her nose wrinkling. James sighed. Maybe fighting with Matilda when she was this inebriated was not the smartest idea.</p><p>“Mallt,” James tried instead, resting his hand on her arm. “We are all upset about Barbara. But if there’s something else bothering you—If someone said anything to you—You can tell me.”</p><p>Had it been Ragnor bringing up her mother’s illness so carelessly? James knew that seeing Aunt Charlotte like that had shattered his parabatai’s heart. Or perhaps, Barbara’s death had awakened those old fears in her mind. The fears of her mother dying.</p><p>Matilda averted his gaze, taking to staring at the shards forgotten all around the floor and hearth. Or, James thought, it was <em>The Shadow</em>. Matilda hid it well, but she forgot James shared her pain. <em> Thy people shall be my people. </em></p><p><em> The Shadow </em>had hung over her for years. James suspected what it might have been and it made his blood boil. People were cruel. James had had that cruelty aimed at him so many times he had lost count. They didn’t bother him as much as they did at thirteen, but when those cruelties targeted the people he loved—That was a different story.</p><p>They called her a whore, he knew. He’d heard it whispered around ballrooms, disgusted glares staring her down as she danced with boys and charmed the girls. They said no man would want to marry her—the girl who’d been with Downworlders. They said she was ruined.</p><p>Yet they never said it loud enough. Or to her face. Because at the end of the day, she was still the Consul’s daughter. It was the privilege poor Eugenia hadn’t had. They said her best chance was marrying Christopher. The boy whose touch all the girls dreaded and the Whore of Downworld.  </p><p>That one made James want to throw people in the Thames. He knew Christopher was like Anna in that sense. He didn’t care what people thought of him. He only cared about making the Shadow World better.</p><p>But his parabatai—he knew she cared. She’d never let them know, but James saw straight through her smiles. He saw the hurt look that passed her face when parents asked her why she was not with the other girls. They wondered out loud what could she be talking about with James, Thomas and Christopher.</p><p>James had always wanted to step in, shield her from their judging glances. But he knew he’d never hear the end of it if he did. She’d been right. Matilda did not need James to rescue her. It didn’t stop him from hating the people that hurt her.</p><p>James tentatively touched the cushion next to his parabatai. “Can I sit?”</p><p>She nodded her head, wrapping her arms around herself as if it offered her protection. James’s heart tightened. He leaned his arm over her shoulders, bringing her closer. Matilda stiffened, and James almost backed away. But then her body relaxed and she melted into his arms. James encircled her, drawing her small form closer.</p><p>“What if it is not something that has been said to me?” Matilda asked, he voice muffled by his shirt. “What if it’s something much worse?” James tightened his grip on her. “What if it’s something I’ve done?” Her voice broke and James glanced down, meeting her sparkling eyes. “What if it’s—what if it’s something I’ve said?”</p><p>James chuckled, patting her head. Matilda narrowed her eyes at him. “Does me baring my feelings amuse you, James Herondale?”</p><p>James shook his head, another chuckle escaping his lips. Matilda slapped his knee. James yelped. “Hey!”</p><p>Matilda raised an eyebrow. She did not seem impressed.</p><p>James sighted. “I apologize for laughing. It’s just that—when have you ever regretted anything you’ve said? I fear my hellcat parabatai has been replaced by a kitten.”</p><p>Matilda slapped him again. James hissed. “Still think I’m a kitten?”</p><p>He touched his finger to her nose. “With a face like that, always.”</p><p>Matilda blushed. It was James’s turn to raise an eyebrow. He didn’t remember seeing her blush as the other girls did ever. Maybe the brandy was to blame.</p><p>“Stop trying to be charming, you nitwit. That’s my role.” She circled his wrist, moving it away from her face. “I’ve been trying to apologize to you all day, and now that we’re finally alone, you are coldheartedly mocking me.”</p><p>James was puzzled. “Apologize? What on earth would you have to apologize for? Oh—”</p><p>James closed his eyes. The ballroom of the Institute blurred his eyelids. Matilda, taking his hands in hers. Her green eyes staring straight through his.</p><p>
  <em> You are cursed. A child of demons. It is why you can see the shadow realm. You are seeing the place you belong. [1] </em>
</p><p>She’d gone white as soon as the words had escaped her lips.</p><p>“Yes, oh,” she retorted, gazing shyly up at him.</p><p>“Matilda, it’s alright,” James said. “You have nothing to apologize for. I should be thanking you. You made me go into the shadow realm, which is what I wanted.”</p><p>She shook her head, curls bouncing around her face. “You must know I did not mean it. Nor will I ever mean it. Not about you and not about Lucie. Never, Jamie. ”</p><p>“Of course I know it.” It had hurt, at that moment. It was why it’d worked, after all. Not the words themselves. James was used to them from the Academy. But rather, hearing them from Matilda’s mouth.</p><p>“Jamie, look at me,” Matilda said, cupping his face. Her voice was shaking. “Please.”</p><p>James hadn’t realized he’d looked away. He raised his head and was met with a pair of tears-filled orbs.</p><p>“Mallt, no,” he whispered, circling her wrists with his hands. He squeezed, trying to make her understand. “Don’t cry, I am not upset with you.”</p><p>“But you were hurt,” she whimpered. “I hurt you. That’s the only thing I am good at. My only talent. To hurt people.”</p><p>Actual tears were running down her cheeks. James knew Matilda hated crying as much as his mother did.</p><p>“That is no true,” James said, his eyes widening. Surely she did not truly believe that.</p><p>“Then do tell me, James. What am I good at, besides insulting people? Besides holding my liquor? Demon-hunting?” She wrinkled her nose, laughing. James did not like the sound of that laugh. “We both know how I feel about that. Art? I can’t paint, my singing is as awful as Bridget’s and my poetry—Oscar would write better poetry if he’d be able to.”</p><p>“You do not have to enjoy something to be good at it. Nor do you need to be good at something to appreciate it.”</p><p>Matilda sniffled into his chest. “Besides, there is something only you are good at. You and only you.”</p><p>“And what’s that?” She asked, raising an eyebrow at him. “Picking out amazing waistcoat?</p><p>James laughed. “No. Well, that as well. I meant—being my parabatai.”</p><p>Matilda looked abashed. “No good parabatai will ever say what I did to you last night—”</p><p>“Matilda, stop,” he tightened his grip on her, rubbing circles on her back. “Yes, I was hurt,” he whispered. “Because you were the one saying it.” A sob escaped her lips and James cursed himself. He suddenly felt thirteen again, when the Consul’s daughter had first laid her eyes on him and acknowledged he existed.</p><p>“Because I care about what you think of me.” His felt his shirtfront getting damp. <em> Why couldn’t he say the right thing?  </em> “Mallt, I’m trying to tell you that your opinion matters to me. That <em>you </em>matter to me. You know I am not like you. I can’t just say the right thing and make you smile.”</p><p>Her tears were soaking his shirt, her sobs echoing in his ears. “Please.” He whispered. “You are too wrecked by guilt to have meant it. I do not blame you, Matilda, please, do not blame yourself either.”</p><p>“That day at the Academy,” she let out, her voice horse from crying. “Back then, I did not know the cruelty of the world. I believed that people could be good if only they’d be shown kindness and a warm smile. I did not imagine how good deeds could be turned against you, how kindness could be manipulated into something awful.”</p><p>She sniffled. “That was before I decided to embrace their cruelty as my own. But what Alastair called you that day—What he said to you—I couldn’t live with myself if I’d remind you of that.”</p><p>“What did he say to you?” James wondered out loud. “He said something in French. I thought it sounded pretty—”</p><p>“He called me a prostitute.” James let go of Matilda. His fits clenched at his side, furry raging through him. He wanted to go to Cornwall Gardens right now and punch Carstairs till his nose bled—</p><p>“Jamie, Jamie,” Matilda said, her fingers grazing the parabatai rune on his neck. She’d stopped crying, he realized. “You know I hear them too, don’t you? I know what they say about me. Carstairs just happened to be the first one to do it.”</p><p>“They have no right to. You are the farthest thing from—”</p><p>“But they do, Jamie. This is the ugliness of the world we live in. People can be as cruel as they wish to. And no one bats an eyelash their way.”</p><p>“At last,” she went on, contouring the rune with her finger. “Those women are people too. I do not believe they do what they do because they want to. Rather, they are forced to do it, because they must survive. Some of them are dancers, singers, but their talent is not enough to provide for their families.”</p><p>James stared at her. “I did not think of it in such a light.”</p><p>“No,” she said, a sad look in her eyes. “Most people do not.” </p><p>“But you are not most people,” he wrapped his arms around her again. “I do not think you are cruel, Matilda. Not to the people that do not deserve it. I think you still believe in the kindness of the world. I do not think you’ve embraced their cruelty as your own. You are just shielding yourself with it. You hurt them first, so they do not get to hurt you.”</p><p>“Oh, Jamie,” she whispered, hiding her face in his shirt. “If only you knew.”</p><p>He wanted to ask what he did not know. Was it <em>The Shadow</em>?</p><p>“We are so sheltered as Shadowhunters,” she said instead. “For us, monsters have claws and fangs and rotten skin. We forget that the real monsters of this world are the ones that look just like us. The ones we may be calling our kind.”</p><p>“And then when we find someone who does not fit into our standards,” James said bitterly. “We make them the monster.”</p><p>“Yes,” Matilda said. “The tragedy of the Nephelim.”</p><p>“Did you mean it?” She asked suddenly, raising to look up at him. “That my opinion matters to you?”</p><p>“Of course I did,” James said. “I think it did since that very first day.”</p><p>“Your opinion matters to me too,” she whispered. “If—If you can forgive me after what I’ve said—then maybe I am not as awful as they say I am after all.”</p><p>“There is nothing awful about you, Mallt. And nothing for me to forgive. If only you’d learn to forgive yourself.”</p><p>“If only,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around him.</p><p>“Jamie?” she asked, her tone lighter. Even playful. “Does this mean you’d do something for me? If I thought it’d be for your own good?”</p><p>“And what might that be?” Some of Matilda’s ideas were—dreadful, to say the least.</p><p>“Get your hair cut,” she said, grinning at him. She pushed the locks falling in his eyes away, untangling a few curls. “You can barely see where you are going.”</p><p>James winced. “You know I hate it when it’s short.”</p><p>“No,” she said. “You hate the hairdresser your father sends you to. I know a place. You’d like it.”</p><p>“If you say so,” Maybe Matilda was right, James thought. He would like not having to push his hair out of his eyes every few minutes.</p><p>“So you’ll let me take you?” she asked excitedly.</p><p>“Yes. On one condition. Wear green at the next ball.”</p><p>Matilda blushed again. “I didn’t think you noticed how I dressed.”</p><p>“Mallt,” he said. “Everybody notices how <em>you </em>dress. Even Christopher.”</p><p>“And you like green?” She stared at him, her eyes less foggy than they’d been earlier.</p><p>“Yes,” he said, touching his hand to her hair. “I like green.”</p><p>“Alright,” Matilda whispered.</p><p>They stood like that, James absently stroking his parabatai’s hair, until Bridget burst into the parlour, kicking them out so she could clean up.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. In Which Matilda Tries Going to The Academy For a Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <span>Idris, 1899</span>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if he falls and cannot get up? What if he leaves the fire brewing a potion on? The house could burn down. They would write poems about it, the tragedy of how the Consul’s husband perished in a fire of his own making, all because his daughter abandoned him cold-heartedly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matilda Fairchild stared at her mother, brows raised expectedly. To her dismay, Mama did not order the driver to turn the carriage around. Instead, she grasped her daughter’s hand, squeezing her fingers reassuringly. “He will be alright, darling. It will only be a few hours. He’s promised he will stay away from all explosives.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you believed him?” Matilda wondered if Mama was sleep deprived again. It happened sometimes when infernal activity spiked somewhere and Mama spent days in meetings with local Clave representatives. Charles Buford usually took care of Mama when it came to that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had split the responsibility between them years ago when Matilda had been very little and Charles had left with Mama to attend a Clave meeting for the first time. If Charles took care of Mama, Matilda took care of Papa. Which was what she wished she were doing right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mama cupped her face, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “You worry too much. Your father wouldn’t want you to waste your youth locked in the laboratory with him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you asked me to take care of him. And you know he forgets to eat and sleep and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Matty,” her mother said. Matilda opened her mouth to correct her. She quite disliked having her name shortened as such. Only Papa called her that. Maybe she should let Mama use it just this once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just want you to be sure that training at an Institute is what you want,” she took both of Matilda’s hands in hers. “When I was your age, I begged my father to let me go to the Academy. But back then, no girl had ever gone, so he said no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you became the first woman to be named Consul,” Matilda said. “You are the Joan of Arc of the Nephilim. Men said you could not run an Institute so instead, you are ruling over all of them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mama shook her head, smiling. “You make me sound like a queen, darling.” Matilda nodded her head. Of course, Mama was a queen. “Girls can go to the Academy now. And I want to give you the choice I did not have. Please, would you do this for me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matilda remembered how, when she had been seven years old, Mama had asked her that same question. She’d asked her to take care of Papa for her. And Matilda intended to keep that promise. She could keep this one as well, she thought. An hour watching students train at the Academy and she could tell Mama it was not for her. She’d be back with Papa in no time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Mama,” her mother’s smile widened, and she pressed a kiss to Matilda’s forehead, still grasping her hands. Mama’s hands were just as small as Matilda’s. One time, when she had been training with Charles, fighting with the staff, her brother had said that Matilda’s hands were too small to hold the weapon. She’d stuck her tongue out at him and Mama had asked if Charles though the same about her. Charles Buford had gone red and stammered an apology. Mama had taken the staff from Matilda’s hand and proceeded to knock Charles off his feet in a few swift movements.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She almost giggled at the memory, scooping closer to Mama on the cushioned bench. Maybe this visit to the Academy would be fun, she decided. Maybe she’d get to teach one of those stuck up boys a lesson of her own, she thought. Plus, she’ll get to see Christopher and Thomas. She’d missed Christopher around Papa’s laboratory. Whenever the boy was around, Papa paid a lot more attention to the things around him. He’d promised Aunt Cecily the boy would be safe, after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wondered if Thomas had been able to keep Christopher away from explosives. He must have, or the boy would have been back at Papa’s side by now. Thomas had looked frightened and somehow he’d managed to make himself seem even smaller as he’d signed that paper. Matilda had reassured him he would do a great job. He’d be the Matilda to Christopher’s genius, taking care of him as she took care of Papa. The boy had not seemed convinced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Shadowhunter Academy rose in the distance, she smoothed her bronze coloured skirt, arranging the pins at the back of her head. She didn’t have to stay at the Academy. But at least she could leave an impression none of those boys would ever forget.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>“She is so pretty,” Mike Smith whispered in James’s ear, staring at the Consul’s daughter with dreamy eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James wrinkled his nose. Sure, Matilda Fairchild was pretty. If pretty meant dressing like a circus exhibition. The girl was in a boy’s shirt, in Raziel’s name. Her skirt did not cover her ankles, and her small waist stood out where the white shirt was tucked in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that a man’s jacket?” Esme asked, eyes blown out. The girl was indeed wearing a brocade jacket. A jacket that resembled ones that Father liked to wear. James thought the combination of red and mulberry looked ridiculous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was the only one that thought so. Matilda mingled among the students and everyone she talked to laughed. And not in the mocking way they laughed when they saw James. They laughed because they thought Matilda was funny.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James remembered what Thomas had said to him, that people feared and mocked what they considered different. Then why weren’t they mocking Matilda? She was wearing a necktie, for Heaven’s sake. Sure, it was tied in a fancy, feminine bow, but still—a necktie!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it was because her mother—The Consul—was watching, James realized. Yes, that had to be it. He glanced at where Aunt Charlotte stood with the Dean, watching her daughter with a fond look on her face. Everyone was simply afraid to make fun of the Consul’s daughter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matilda approached Christopher and Thomas Lightwood and James stiffened. The two friends he’d wanted so badly since the first day at the Academy. The two friends he’d had for a short while, before the incident. James’s heart sunk as Matilda hugged Thomas and patted Christopher’s hair. They seemed friendlier with a girl than they’d ever been with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was partially his fault, he knew. The Lightwood cousins had tried to comfort him after the incident, but Thomas’s words had struck him too much to stick around with the two of them afterwards. He wasn’t about to change how he was just to fit in with a bunch of Alastair Carstairs morons.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yet, here was Matilda, a girl who only pinned up a few strands of hair behind her head and dressed as she had just walked out of a theatre dressing room. And Thomas Lightwood did not tell her to stop being different. Instead, he laughed as the girl talked, his shyness seemingly vanishing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Matilda turned away from the cousins, making her way to the dregs, James decided he did not like Matilda Fairchild.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fine, maybe she was pretty, James thought. Her blonde locks framed her sharp cheekbones and her eyes were a piercing dark green colour. And she was small, he realized. Small and delicate like Grace was. Grace wore her hair down as well, he thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hullo, there!” Matilda said, her voice annoyingly melodic. “You must be the mundanes. I ought to thank you on behalf of my mother for the bravery you are showing in joining our ranks. Between you and me, I think you should be considered the elites and Nephilim children the dregs. You have such a deeper understanding of the world, having been exposed to art all your lives.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James wanted to gag. Mike Smith stumbled forward, taking Matilda’s hand and bringing it to his lips. Her hand was so small, James thought. Like Grace’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are most kind, my lady,” The boy said. Esme looked at him as if he had grown another head. “I do not know a lot about art, I’m afraid. But do I feel like a piece of art is standing right in front of me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He did not just say that,” Esme whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matilda giggled. “Mundanes are such gentlemen. I’m afraid respect towards women has entirely vanished from the Nephilim. They do not believe we can make as great warriors as they can. But that is not true, is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turned to Esme as she spoke and smiled. The Smile. James remembered it from balls and dinners with Aunt Charlotte and Uncle Henry. The Smile won Matilda extra time before bed, extra Christmas pudding, extra anything she wanted. Matilda gave her all to this particular smile. Butter melted. Birds sang. People slipped about dazed amid the butter and birdsong [1].</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Any disprovals Esme might have had about Matilda vanished with The Smile. “Oh, of course, it’s not true. But I’m afraid mundanes men are just as biased.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, then I guess we’ll have to prove them wrong,” Matilda said, batting her lashes at Esme. The girl blushed. “I have no doubt you’ll show them just how good of a warrior you are upon Accession—Oh, I am so sorry, I believe I did not catch your name. How rude of me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I—Esme, my name is Esme,” the mundane girl said, her blush intensifying. “But it’s quite awful, I’m afraid. I wish to change it when I ascend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it’s a beautiful name,” Matilda declared, fingers playing with a strand of her golden hair. It was quite infuriating, James thought. “Robert Hichens named a character he based on Oscar Wilde Esme. It may be a boy’s name in the novel, but I am certain a girl as pretty as you can bring a feminine touch to it. I wouldn’t change it for the world.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Esme stared at Matilda as if she were the sun. James wanted to hide for the rest of his life. Mike Smith, visibly upset he’d lost Matilda’s interest, stepped forward again. “And I am Mike Smith, miss.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Esme glared at him. Matilda raised an eyebrow. “I see. Is it short for Michael? Maybe don’t shorten it in the future. It makes you sound rather childish. Michael has a much nicer ring, don’t you think so, Esme?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike turned red, his head lowering in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. Matilda winked at Esme as she said it. She turned towards James suddenly, as if she were only now realizing he was there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Jamie Herondale, I didn’t see you, my apologies.” It was James’s turn to blush. He was so irrelevant that the Consul’s daughter hadn’t even noticed his presence. The girl’s brows furrowed. “Wait, what are you doing here with the mundanes? Shouldn’t you be with the other Shadowhunters?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James wanted to die. He couldn’t understand how Aunt Charlotte’s daughter could be so rude. Aunt Charlotte was kind and always fussed over James and his little sister, Lucie. Matilda, however, Matilda was annoying and had no sense of decency. James couldn’t believe he’d ever compared her to Grace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“James,” he gritted his teeth. He couldn’t believe this girl. She’d just said Mike’s name sounded childish, yet here she was belittling his own. “Maybe you’re not the only one who thinks mundanes make great warriors.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James hoped his tone was harsh enough that Matilda understood she was not welcome here. Instead, she smiled at him. The Smile. James thought it was even more annoying when it was aimed at him. She opened her mouth to speak but a male voice beat her to it. James hated that voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goatface Herondale hangs with the dregs because he is a demon spawn who spends his nights in Hell dimensions,” said Alastair Carstairs. James hoped the earth would swallow him at once. Matilda was going to laugh, James thought. She was going to laugh and agree with Alastair that James’s eyes looked demonic. The entire school would be throwing pebbles soon enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except the girl didn’t laugh. “And who might you be?” she asked, glancing at Clive and Piers as they grinned down at her. “Did your friends fail to mention that a chicken seems to have relieved itself on your head? How awful friends, those two must be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James shouldn’t have laughed. He knew, as soon as the sound escaped his lips, that laughing at Alastair Carstairs was a mistake. But he couldn’t help himself. Alastair went red, his eyes blazing with fury as he glanced from Matilda to James.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nicely done, Demon Eyes,” Alastair hissed. “Having a </span>
  <em>
    <span>girl</span>
  </em>
  <span> stand up for you. No wonder you are so pathetic in training. Even </span>
  <em>
    <span>this fille de joie</span>
  </em>
  <span> could probably leave you crying on the ground.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Esme and Mike laughed. James closed his eyes. He wished Matilda Fairchild had never come to the school. Even the last people who still dared to meet his eyes and sit with him thought he was pathetic now. Even worse, Alastair didn’t even insult Matilda, he’d probably called her delicate or—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How dare you,” Matilda said, fists clenched at her side. “I am the Consul’s daughter, from one of the most respectable families—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alastair laughed. “Like mother, like daughter.” Matilda let out a high-pitched screech. “Do run to your Mama and tell her. Maybe then you’ll both finally be gone and our training exercise would resume.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alastair staggered away, Clive and Piers laughing as they followed him. Matilda turned to James, her eyes raging. “Who was that arrogant, awful prick? I have never been more offended in my life, he has no respect for—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for making it even worse for me,” James said. He walked away from the Consul’s daughter without another word.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>“I shall like to join in on this training exercise,” Matilda declared, looking expectedly at the Dean. The woman glanced from Matilda to Mama, her eyes wide. She seemed scared, Matilda thought, her lower lip trembling where she bit it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am not sure this is appropriate, darling. We wouldn’t want to cause any more delays, after all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But there won’t be another delay,” Matilda said, smiling widely at Mama. “You did say you wished me to be sure about this. And what better way to get a taste of what the Academy is like than to train with the other students?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mama sighed. “You get this determination from me, dear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does this mean I can go change into gear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mama nodded her head. The Dean looked paler than she did before. Matilda kissed Mama’s cheek before rushing to where Esme was standing with Michael Smith. The girl blushed as Matilda asked her to show her to the changing room, where gear was stored.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few minutes later Matilda emerged from inside the Academy, dressed in gear, jogging up the hill to get to where the professors were explaining the next exercise. The older students had hidden Pyxis boxes around the woods and the newcomers were supposed to fight the small demons lurking inside. Of course, they were not demons that could cause any real harm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matilda did not particularly care about the demons, however. She was more concerned with teaching a lesson to that insufferable Egg-head. She couldn’t shake his words off, no matter how hard she tried. How dare he insult Mama in such a way?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'll be partners with Christopher,” [2] said Thomas, loud enough to wake Matilda from her daydream. </span>
  <em>
    <span>So this was a paired task. Interesting. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Matilda glanced around and noticed Esme and Michael standing to the side with the other mundanes. They all had looks of disappointment on their faces, as they stared at the Shadowhunter children. Meaning they did not get to join in. How rude and discriminatory.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As her eyes roamed around the courtyard, Matilda met the golden eyes of James Herondale. He quickly looked away, taking to staring out at the people partnering up around him. His eyes lingered on Thomas and Christopher with a glint of jealousy and—longing? Frowning, Matilda hurried forward, elbowing her way through the excited crowd.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will be partners with James,” [3] Matilda declared. She could hear those three boys from earlier laughing. She shot them a glare and restrained herself from sticking her tongue out to them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” James demanded, his eyes furious behind his spectacles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seeing what training is all about,” Matilda winked at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am not a charity project for you to show off with,” James said, taking off his spectacles and rubbing at his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course you aren’t,” Matilda said, frowning at him. “It was unacceptable for that boy to say those things to you. For what it’s worth, I think your eyes are beautiful. You shouldn’t have to hide them away. The unfairness of the Shadow World makes my skin crawl—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James snorted. “And what do you know about unfairness, Matilda? When has anyone been anything but nice to you? You’ve been at the Academy for less than an hour, and already have everyone wrapped around your finger. Mike Smith would throw himself off a cliff if you’d tell him to!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matilda stared at him, mouth agape. “That is not true! I’ve merely shown kindness to people. You’d know that, if you tried talking to them instead of being so aloof you’d rather judge everyone from afar!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James blushed, his fists clenched. “I am not aloof!” He glared at her, eyes blazing. “You think I didn’t try to make friends? I’ve had friends, until that stupid day! Since then, everyone is avoiding me like the plague. Mike and Esme still talk to me because they have nobody else. But even they look afraid of me when they think I can’t see it.” His voice broke as he finished speaking. He wasn’t looking at her anymore. Instead, his eyes were glued to the sky, blinking rapidly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matilda had learned that trick from Mama early on. He was trying not to cry. She stepped forward, reaching out to grasp his hand. “Jamie—“, she started, but he yanked his hand away before she could say anything else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“James,” he said, gritting his teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Matilda raised her hands, reassuring him she would not touch him again. “James.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded his head. Matilda took it as an opportunity to continue. “Tell me about what happened that day. Make me understand the unfairness you’ve faced.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James bent down to pick up a sword from the pile of weapons scattered on the ground. He whirled around, heading for the woods without a glance back. Matilda grabbed a bow with its matching set of arrows, strapping it to her back as she ran to catch up with the boy. He was surprisingly quick, her small feet fighting the ground as she finally reached him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walked together in silence for a while, the wind howling as it bent down tree branches above their heads. “I can turn into a shadow,” James said suddenly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Matilda turned her head towards him, unsure she’d understood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said I can turn into a shadow. You said you wanted me to tell you about it. So listen, would you now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, of course. My apologies, it’s just that—it’s awfully quiet, don’t you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James shrugged. “Did you hear what I said?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Matilda said. “But I fail to see a problem. I mean, it was expected of you to develop some sort of ability, as Aunt Tessa has. And turning into a shadow—that means you can become invisible more or less, doesn’t it? It seems like a great skill to have in battle. You could sneak up on demons without them seeing you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James stared at her. From his surprised look, she could assume he had not expected her to say those words. “Nobody sees it like that,” he said. “They—They say I’m an abomination. That my eyes look like they belong to a demon. They say even worse things about Mam.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matilda thought about what that boy had said about her mother. “Aunt Tessa is most kind. She introduced me to Oscar Wilde. I like her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. She is—Mam hates Oscar Wilde.” He frowned at her, eyes widened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Matilda agreed. “That’s why he sparked my interest. I remember overhearing this heated argument between your parents about The Picture of Dorian Gray. They were both quite passionate about their views on the matter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You spied on my parents?” James shrieked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, now, don’t be so dramatic, James. I was merely bored out of my mind listening to Charles Buford overpraising himself. The conversation your parents were having seemed more intriguing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James laughed. Matilda raised an eyebrow. She hadn’t been sure he was even capable of laughing, with that frown taking over his forehead. “Did people turn away from you after you changed for the first time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James nodded, his eyes saddened again. “Yes—Thomas and Christopher, we were friends at first. But after the incident—they tried to comfort me, but Thomas said I should stop trying to seem so different. That I shouldn’t hang out with the mundanes anymore. I don’t understand how he could say that when Aunt Sophie ascended. Surely he should be more open-minded—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do not think that is what Thomas meant,” Matilda said, adjusting the strap of her bow. “I think he wanted to tell you to try protecting yourself more. That if you’d give people like Egg-head fewer reasons to pick on you, maybe they will cease doing so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James chuckled. “Egg-head sounds better than Alastair Carstairs, I’ll give you that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matilda gasped. “Somebody actually named their son Alastair Carstairs? They might as well had called him Staircase Carstairs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James’s laughter seemed to awaken the forest. Matilda smiled as he clutched his stomach. “About Thomas,” she went on. “He’s been quite sickly before he came to the Academy. I think his sense of self-preservation may be more developed than you assume it to be. He was just trying to tell you what has helped him throughout the years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just that—” James shook his head. “Both he and Christopher seemed so happy to see you. They were never that open towards me, and I’m a boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matilda stopped walking, her cheeks burning. “Are you suggesting that they should not be friends with me because I am a girl, James Herondale?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No, I—” James lunged at her, knocking her to the ground. Matilda landed on her back, James hovering above her. She was about to yell at him for having the audacity to do so, when she heard him cry out, his body bending forward, crushing her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She saw it then, standing above them. A Vertis demon, one of its arm lifted, where a second head stood, mouth wide open. There was blood leaking from the fangs barred at them. James’s blood, she realized in horror. He’d taken a bite meant for her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His body staggered, going limp as he rolled off her. The demon advanced on them, and Matilda spotted another body laying on the leaves. One of the boys from earlier. There was a Pyxis box clutched in his hand, his eyes rolled over, clearly dead. A bite was visible on his left arm, his skin torn, shirtsleeve smeared with blood. Black liquid was leaking from the bite.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matilda strung her bow, raising it to the level of the first head. She shot three arrows in quick succession, aiming for a red eye on each head. The demon tried lunching at them, before falling to the ground, human-like body convulsing and vanishing soon after.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matilda shot to her feet, running towards James’s bent form. The poison was already boiling on his back, his skin ripped, covered in blood. “Jamie, Jamie,” she cried out, touching her hand to his tousled curls. She knew the poison of Vertis demons acted quick. Which was why one needed to act even quicker if they wished to save the victim.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Somebody help!” she shouted out into the woods. “He’s been poisoned, please, somebody help!” She was crying now because she knew it had already been too late for the other boy. James stirred, lifting his head slowly to look at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He seemed confused, his eyes glassy and unfocused. He muttered something, but his voice was already so weak, Matilda could not understand him. “What? Jamie, what did you say?” She lay his head in her lap, stroking his cheek. Sweat was gleaming on his brow. His eyes fluttered close and Matilda gripped his shoulder, shaking him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” she screamed. “Jamie, stay with me!” He made to push her away, but all his strength had left him, his touch barely a brush of his fingers on her arm,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Green,” he let out. Matilda frowned as James gazed over her shoulder. She braced herself as she turned around, ready to be struck by another demon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a warlock standing there, grasping his knees as he tried to catch his breath. He was green, indeed. She remembered seeing him among the professors gathered in the courtyard. “I’ve heard you,” the man let out. “What-what happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A Vertis demon,” she hiccuped, clutching James’s hand. “Please, sir, the poison is already boiling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man cursed, kneeling next to them. Matilda held James’s hand while the warlock cleaned his wound, his magic burning the poison away.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>His father was singing the Demon Pox song. And somebody was actually enjoying it. He could hear feminine laughter accompanying his father as he belted on a particularly high note.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James blinked, his eyes opening slowly. He was lying in an unfamiliar bed, incredibly soft, almost as soft as his bed from home. The room was brightly lit, the double windows opened, wind ruffling his hair. He could glimpse the Demon Towers rising in the distance, along with the roofs of various Alicante townhouses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jamie!” Something green flashed before his eyes, and he found himself being crushed in a tight embrace, small arms circling him. “Jamie, Jamie, you’re awake!”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Matilda. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Memories started playing in his head. He’d been walking with Matilda into Brocelind, and she’d been upset about something he’d said. Then he’d spotted Clive’s body, the Vertis demon barring his teeth at her. She hadn’t noticed at all, and James had acted on instinct, shielding her body with his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” She cried out, pulling away to look at him. He remembered gazing into her eyes as the poison had taken over, thinking that the orbs had been impossibly green. “Why did you jump in front of me like that? It should be me lying here, not you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I—” James stared at his father, silently begging him for help. But Father only grinned, winking at him playfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jamie?” Matilda asked, worry written on her face as her brows furrowed. “Are you well? Is it hard for you to speak? Professor Fell said there may be some temporary side effects to the poison.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s James, for the last time,” [4] he let out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matilda grinned at him, wrapping her arms around his neck again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I get to call you Jamie after you so irrationally decided to play knight on a white horse with me. Calling you Jamie makes me feel better.” [5]</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chuckled, circling her as well. She was warm as they embraced, a cherry scent invading his nostrils. James smiled as he noticed she was wearing an intricate brocade jacket, the fabric a rich green colour. It matched the one his father was wearing quite well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Son, your mother appointed me to scold you for being so careless,” Father said, kneeling at the side of James’s bed. “But she did so while crying and calling you her sweet baby boy, so I did not take her seriously.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James blushed as Matilda giggled. “I for once,” Father went on. “Would like to congratulate you. Risking your life to save a beautiful maiden is such a Herondale thing to do, I could never be mad at you for it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr Herondale!” Matilda said. “I thought we’ve established that I do not need saving. I was perfectly capable of taking out the demon on my own.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A beautiful warrior, then!” Father declared. “It even rhymes better!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matilda laughed again, shaking her head. “This one’s a keeper, son, trust my judgement on it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She blushed, hiding her face in her hands. “Mr Herondale, please, it’s not like that! James and I wish to train together, to see if we’d make good parabatai.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Father said, his shocked expression matching the one James must have had plastered on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Charlotte did say you wished to train at the London Institute.” Matilda nodded her head, smiling widely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, and since James got expelled, we could see if we are compatible. You do agree that training together is important, don’t you, Mr Herondale?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Father nodded his head, still staring puzzled at Matilda. “Yes, of course, but—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I got expelled?” James exclaimed, staring disbelievingly between the two of them. Matilda’s eyes softened as she nodded. “But why—I didn’t do anything wrong, I—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because they think it’s too much of a burden on them, dealing with such a special student.” She said, her face impossibly kind. “Mama tried to convince the Dean to let you stay, but I am afraid the poor woman had a breakdown after Clive’s death. She was not thinking straight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James closed his eyes. “Does—does Mam know? Is she—is she upset?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Father clasped his shoulder. “Your Mother has been the subject of people’s cruelties for a long time, son. She’s long ago stopped caring about what they thought of her. As long as you are happy, so is she. So am I.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James smiled at Father as he raised to his feet. “Then it’s settled! Matilda will be coming with us to the Institute. I’m going to go help Henry set up a Portal, let you children talk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And with that Father was out of the room, and James found himself alone with Matilda Fairchild. A thought crossed his mind and he felt his body heating up. “Is this—is this </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> house?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is!” Matilda said. “Mama insisted you recover here instead of in that awful Infirmary at the Academy. Ragnor has been coming in every day to check on you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this your room?” James shrieked, clutching the covers with his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matilda threw her head back laughing. “Angel, no! Don’t you feel the awful smell of Charles’s cologne? I’ve had the windows open for half an hour now and that smell would not go away!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you not mind?” James asked. “Being alone with me? I wouldn’t want to—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matilda shook her head, still laughing. “Of course not, silly! I hang around Christopher all the time when he helps Papa in the laboratory. Why would you be any different?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t have to be parabatai,” Matilda whispered. “I said it to make your father train me at the Institute, but we don’t...have to. I mean, unless you...maybe want to be.” [6]</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James thought about it. He’d wanted a parabatai for so long. Someone with whom he’d share a bond as strong as his father had had with Uncle Jem. For a while, he’d hoped Thomas would be his parabatai. Someone just as shy as he was. Someone he could hide away at balls with. And whenever he’d pictured his parabatai in his head, they’d always been a boy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James stared at the small girl looking up at him, her green eyes wide and hopeful. He remembered how she’d strung her bow and killed that demon in a blink of an eye. She was more experienced than he was. And she was not shy. She was loud and obnoxious at times, dressing brightly and drawing all the attention to herself. They were complete opposites. And yet—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James grasped Matilda’s small hand in his. “Let’s train together,” he said. “See how we work around each other. And then we both decide if we want it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matilda smiled. The Smile. And despite himself, James smiled back. He suddenly did not dread the thought of tomorrow anymore. He was suddenly excited for what was to come. All because of a tiny girl who’d waltzed into his miserable life at the right moment and offered him a kind smile.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. In Which James Gifts Matilda a Puppy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter 3 is loosely inspired by Taylor Swift's "The Moment I Knew"</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>London, 1900</b>
</p><p>“Are you even listening to me?”</p><p>Matilda blinked, turning towards Anna Lightwood. The other girl was frowning at her, eyebrows raised and arms crossed against her chest.</p><p>“I-yes, it’s just that-James-”</p><p>Anna’s face softened. “He’ll be here, dear friend. Do not fret your pretty head with nonsense worries.”</p><p>Matilda sighed. “What if he has second thoughts about us becoming parabatai?”</p><p>Anna laughed, her blue eyes sparkling. “Believe me; he most definitely does not.”</p><p>It was Matilda’s turn to frown. “How can you be sure? I haven’t seen him at all since the ceremony.”</p><p>“You haven’t seen him because he has been pestering everyone with questions about what to get you. He has been quite infuriating.”</p><p>Matilda wondered if Anna was making things up. “He mustn't worry about that! Surely he knows that him being here would make me happier than any material thing!”</p><p>Anna grinned, tucking a strand of Matilda’s blonde hair behind her ear. “Now, now, Matilda. When a gentleman wishes to gift you something special, you do not simply refuse. If he goes with my recommendation, you’ll have gorgeous waistcoats to show off soon enough.”</p><p>Anna winked at her, but Matilda was not convinced. James had asked her what she wanted for her birthday on the day of the ceremony. She’d playfully answered that she only wished the formalities to be over so they could be parabatai for good.</p><p>As she glanced around the drawing-room of her family’s home in Grosvenor Square, Matilda met Thomas’s gaze. He smiled shyly at her, shaking his head. Christopher seemed unbothered as he animatedly talked to Papa next to him. What if James regretted accepting to be her parabatai instead of asking Thomas? What if Mr Herondale was disappointed after all in his son choosing to be parabatai with a girl?</p><p>“Mallt!” Her heart fluttered at the sound of the Welsh nickname. Her excitement was quickly replaced with disappointment, however, as Lucie Herondale threw her arms around her neck. “Happy birthday!” The girl sang, clutching Matilda in her arms. Lucie was surprisingly strong, given her small frame.</p><p>She pulled away, grinning. “Mam and I picked up those beautiful skirts for you, and Papa found this gorgeous edition of ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’ at this new bookstore on Fleet Street. You are going to love them!”</p><p>Matilda glanced passed Lucie’s shoulder at Mrs and Mr Herondale. “Where’s James?” she let out at the same time he did.</p><p>Mr Herondale’s eyes widened. “But he left before we did, he must have been here by now!”</p><p>Mrs Herondale’s brows furrowed. “What if he got caught in the snow somewhere? By the Angel, we’d better go look for him.” She seemed worried, and guilt washed over Matilda. She’d been so selfish, thinking only about herself, when something awful might have happened to James. She opened her mouth, wanting to offer her assistance in looking for her parabatai, but Anna beat her to it.</p><p>“Nonsense, Aunt Tessa! James told me he is going to shop for Matilda’s gift this afternoon. He is simply indecisive.”</p><p>Mrs Herondale, or Aunt Tessa, as she’d asked Matilda to call her, did not seem convinced. She nodded though, and dragged Mr Herondale away, muttering something about a locator spell.</p><p>Lucie gripped Matilda’s hands in hers. “I am going to scold him when he shows up. How dare he make you worry about him on your birthday?”</p><p>The girl’s words did nothing to calm Matilda’s growing anxiety. She excused herself and made her way to where Thomas and Christopher seemed to be having a lemon tart eating competition.</p><p>“Have you heard from James at all?” She asked, leaning against the buffet table.</p><p>Christopher stared at her, a big piece of lemon tart in his mouth. “He said he’ll be here. Hasn’t he come with Aunt Tessa and Uncle Will? I thought I saw Lucie talking to Anna. Maybe I am having hallucinations from so many lemon tarts.”</p><p>Matilda’s heart tightened. He said he’ll be here. Thomas took another piece of lemon tart out of Christopher’s hand, shaking his head. “He was fretting about what to get you the last time I saw him. I’m sure he’ll come, he’s just trying to make it perfect for you.”</p><p>Matilda wasn’t sure how her parabatai missing almost half of her birthday party was perfect in any way. She gripped Thomas’s arm. “Can I talk to you alone for a moment?”</p><p>He nodded, popping the lemon tart in his mouth before following her out into the hallway. She could hear Christopher muttering behind them about experimenting how many lemon tarts he could eat before feeling sick.</p><p>“What is it?” Thomas asked, his hazel eyes narrowed. Matilda always felt oddly comforted by his presence. Maybe it was the fact that he was just as small and slight as she was. You are Gideon Lightwood’s bastard. Shaking away Alastair’s words, Matilda met Thomas’s eyes.</p><p>“Did James say anything to you? About-about being sorry he’s chosen me to be his parabatai?”</p><p>Thomas’s eyes widened. “What? Of course not, why would he say-Matilda, where is this coming from?”</p><p>Matilda sighed. “I know he wanted you to be his parabatai at first. If he’s confided his regrets in you, Thomas, you mustn’t be cruel with me and hide it. Tell me the truth.”</p><p>Thomas was staring at her, mouth agape. “Matilda, I-You know I don’t want a parabatai-”</p><p>“You didn’t answer my question,” she pointed out, bile rising in her throat.</p><p>“I have never seen James happier than he’s been since you’ve started training together! And I am not the one he confides in! You are!”</p><p>“You still didn’t answer my question,” Matilda whispered, her lips trembling.</p><p>Thomas sighted. “No, Matilda, he did not say anything to me at all. He will be here for you. I know he will.”</p><p>Matilda nodded her head. She wasn’t sure if she believed Thomas. He’d never lied to her, and yet, he may not wish to upset her on her birthday.</p><p>Plastering the widest smile she could manage on her face, Matilda circled her arm through Thomas’s. “Thank you for being honest with me, my friend,” she said as her throat tightened. “Let’s go back to the party, shall we?”</p><p>Thomas nodded, his gaze lingering on her as they made their way through the crowd. As she watched Christopher stuff as many lemon tarts as he could fit inside his mouth, Thomas clutching his stomach as he laughed, Matilda couldn’t help repeating five words inside her head. He said he’ll be here.</p>
<hr/><p>Matilda lay down on the largest sofa in the drawing-room, a blanket wrapped tightly around her body. She adjusted the intensity of the witchligh lamp beside her, making it dim enough not to wake anyone. The copy of ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’ Mr Herondale had picked for her was clutched in her hands.</p><p>She opened the book, her hands shaking slightly. She focused her eyes on the words coming alive on the pages. If only she could get her mind to focus as well. James had not come. That was the only thought her mind seemed to accept.</p><p>She’d been trying not to cry since people had sung ‘Happy Birthday’ to her. As they’d started to leave, Mr Herondale had hugged her tightly, reassuring her he’d have a word with James. Lucie had fiercely nodded, while Aunt Tessa had smiled sadly at her.</p><p>Matilda wasn’t stupid. She knew what that smiled had meant. Aunt Tessa must have done the locator spell she’d planned to try. And she must have found James safe somewhere, probably hiding away from Matilda.</p><p>Wet spots began forming on the page. Matilda closed the book, not wanting to damage it. She leaned further into the sofa, clutching the blanket as she allowed herself to cry.</p><p>Why hadn’t he told her no, if he did not want to be parabatai? Now they were stuck with each other forever, with no way out. Matilda hiccuped, bringing her hands to her mouth, trying to muffle the sound.</p><p>A knock on the front door made her jump to her feet, the book falling to the floor with a thud. She stayed frozen in place, listening. Another knock followed, but no one else seemed to have heard it. Not Cook, not Charles and not her parents.</p><p>Matilda entered the hallway, her eyes searching for any misplaced weapons. “Who’s there?” she called, cursing how young and delicate her voice sounded.</p><p>“Mallt-Mallt, it’s me,” Matilda blinked. James? “Can you please let me in, I’m freezing.”</p><p>She yanked open the door, letting the bolts loose. James Herondale was standing there, black hair covered in snowflakes, his hands hidden inside his jacket, clutching something to his chest. His body was shaking from the cold.</p><p>“By the Angel, Jamie!” she cried, moving aside to let him stumble inside. “How long have you been outside?”</p><p>“A-a-wh-while,” his teeth were chattering. Any thought of why he hadn't shown up to the party was forgotten in an instant. She ushered him inside the drawing-room, kneeling to nurture the fireplace.</p><p>She could hear him fussing behind her before he settled down onto the sofa she’d occupied just moments ago. Matilda turned around, ready to ask James what on earth he’d been thinking. She gaped at him, her eyes widened.</p><p>His jacket had been throw to the floor, soaking wet. There was a puppy in his arms, a green bow wrapped loosely around his little neck. “What-,” she started.</p><p>“Happy birthday, Mallt!” James let out, handing the puppy to her as she approached him. Her hands wrapped around his small form, resting his head on her chest. His eyes were barely open, but he stuck out his tongue to lick her fingers.</p><p>“I am so sorry,” James was saying, his teeth still chattering, as he wrapped his arms around himself, trying to warm up. “I should have come earlier, but I lost track of time around the city, going from shop to shop-”</p><p>James coughed, breaking off. Not letting go of the puppy, Matilda placed her blanket around James’s shoulders. She sat down next to him, taking the pup in her lap, stroking his ears.</p><p>“So you decided to catch a cold and give it to me as well?” Matilda teased, unwrapping the bow from the dog’s neck.</p><p>James blushed, wrapping the blanket around himself. “I-by the time I realised how late it was, I got kicked out of this clothing shop in Soho.” He said, avoiding her gaze.</p><p>Matilda giggled, imagining James being throw out of a shop kicking and screaming. “Have you been crying?” he asked suddenly, frowning at her.</p><p>Matilda hid her face, gazing down at the pup napping happily in her lap. “Because of me?” James let out, his voice breaking. He reached out to grasp her hand in his. Matilda yelped at how cold his touch was.</p><p>“Angel, Jamie,” she let out. Placing the puppy gently on the sofa, Matilda scooped closer to James. She wrapped her arms around his waist, bringing him closer.</p><p>“Mallt-Mallt, what are you doing?” he asked, his eyes wide.</p><p>“Warming you up, you nitwit!” His arms went around her, and Matilda bent down to take the dog back in her arms. She cradled his head against her shoulder, as she nestled her face in James’s cold shirtfront.</p><p>“How’d you find this little guy?” she asked, starting curiosity up at him.</p><p>“I was on my way here when I heard some mundane boys shouting in an alley. I don’t know what made me check on it-” James shook his head. “They were beating up a golden retriever. When I got closer, I noticed there were dead pups all around her.” He tightened his grip on her, his eyes furious. “He was the only one that survived. He’d hidden behind a dumpster."</p><p>“And the mother?” Matilda asked, gently petting the dog’s head.</p><p>James only shook his head. “I thought,” he said instead. “That if he were to be loved, there was nobody else who’d love him more than you would. That he was the gift I’ve been searching for all this time.”</p><p>Matilda smiled, taking the green ribbon in her free hand and placing it around her parabatai’s shoulders. “Jamie, Jamie,” she cooed. “You shouldn’t have fussed so much because of me.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t have found him otherwise,” James said, looking fondly at the pup nestled against her shoulder. “I am so sorry I did not make it in time for the party.”</p><p>Matilda brought her head up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “All’s forgiven.”</p><p>“Do you like him?” James asked as she pulled away.</p><p>“I already love him.”</p><p>James nodded, his mouth perking up in a smile. “And I have no doubt he’ll love you as well.”</p><p>“Mallt,” James said, the grin still plastered on his face. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll catch whatever I have?”</p><p>Matilda wrapped her arm around him tighter, burying her face in his chest. “I’ll take my chance.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Mallt is the Welsh version of Matilda.</p><p>Some of the things alluded to, or rather, that the reader is told about in one chapter are likely to be detailed in further ones. </p><p>This is a collection of one-shots. I will not be posting them in any particular order, be it chronological or not. </p><p>Referenced paragraphs are directly taken from Cassie's work.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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